Page 112 of The Only One Left

“Ricardo wasn’t perfect.” Berniece sighs, and contained in that single sound is a lifetime of disappointment. “I knew that when I married him. He had, shall we say, a wandering eye. But he wasn’t mean, even when he drank, which is more than I can say about my father. So I wasn’t surprised when that rich bitch got her hooks into him. She could have had the pick of all those young men working the place. Some were full-time. Some were townies. Some of them fine-looking, too. But none as handsome as my Ricardo. I guess that’s why she set her sights on him. All she needed to do was bat those big, blue eyes at him and he was a goner.”

“Did you confront him about it?”

“Of course. Do I look like some shrinking violet to you?”

I have to concede that no, she does not. “What did he say?”

“He denied it, of course. He was a smooth talker, my Ricardo. Could talk his way out of anything. He tried to convince me nothing was going on between them, and I pretended to believe him. But I had a plan, you see.”

The chair creaks as I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “The hush money.”

“It only seemed fair,” Berniece says. “My husband was carrying on with one of the High and Mighty Hopes. I deserved something for my pain and suffering. So I gave them an ultimatum—pay up or I’d tell everyone exactly what kind of people they were.”

“And they had to decide—”

“The night all hell broke loose.”

Berniece tells me how all the Hope’s End staff was given the night off. That was apparently common every other Tuesday in the off-season. There wasn’t a whole lot to do there once October rolled around. Berniece told her husband she was going into town to see a movie.

“I asked if he wanted to come along, knowing he wouldn’t,” she says. “So I grabbed my coat, hat, and purse and left the cottage.”

“But you didn’t leave Hope’s End,” I say.

Berniece touches the tip of her nose, signaling I’m right. “I waited around outside, hoping to see Ricardo sneaking off to meet her. Sure enough, he left the cottage about fifteen minutes later, sauntering across the terrace and past the swimming pool to the garage. At first, I was surprised. Imagine a place that big, with all those rooms, and choosing to fuck in the garage.”

I jolt in shock. No, Berniece Mayhew is definitely not a shrinking violet. She smiles, pleased to have scandalized me.

“But then I realized what he was doing,” she continues. “Ricardo wasn’t a stupid man, despite doing many stupid things. He knew I was on to him. And I realized he knew I hadn’t gone to the movies. Heading to the garage was just a way of throwing me off his trail.”

I get her gist. Instead of entering through the back, he went to the garage before going around to the front of the house and using the main door.

“I marched right into that house, ready to catch the two of them in the act and then tell Winston Hope exactly what his daughter was doing with my husband. I was certain he’d pay up. After firing Ricardo, of course. And probably me, as well. Which was even more reason to try to get as much money as I could.”

“But it didn’t work out that way.”

“No,” Berniece says quietly. “It didn’t.”

I glance at my watch. My five minutes are up. But I can’t leave. Not until I hear the full story. Trying to move her along, I say, “What happened when you went inside?”

“I got as far as the kitchen before that bitch ran in.”

I can only assume the bitch in question is Lenora.

“She looked scared,” Berniece says. “At first I thought it was because of me. That she knew they’d been found out. But then I noticed her hands.”

My chair starts to vibrate. I look down and notice I’m tapping my right foot, set into motion by both impatience and suspense. “What about them?”

“They were bloody.”

My foot stills instantly, as does the rest of my body as I picture young Lenora standing in the kitchen, blood dripping from her hands. A horrible image for many reasons.

“Did she say anything?”

“Not at first,” Berniece says. “She just stared at me, shocked to see me there. And then we both heard a scream. It came from upstairs, echoing down the service stairs.”

“Do you know who it was?” I say.

“Either Mrs. Hope or the younger daughter,” Berniece says. “It was definitely a woman. As she kept on screaming, Lenora grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter. Then she glared at me and said, ‘Get out right now.’ ”

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